Part 20 (1/2)

”I'm afraid so. Somebody around here seems to be fond of setting fires. What about last night? Did you notice any strangers around here last night?”

”No. I always step outside before going to bed, just to look at the stars. But I didn't see anything unusual.”

Homer thanked her and went away to talk to Honey again, and to Eugene Beaver and Stu LaDue. They had all been watching the happy colors of television jiggling on the screen. They had heard nothing else, they had seen nothing.

Homer drove away and headed across Route 2, wondering why the remaining Pond View people didn't seem more concerned for their own safety. Only Julian Snow had the sense to be afraid. As Homer pulled into the parking lot beside the fire and police station, he saw Julian's sober face rise up against the background of the s.h.i.+ning red fire engines parked in the open air.

”That's two more things,” he told Police Chief Flower. ”Porter McAdoo's death and Honey Mooney's fire. You can't ignore it now. Somebody's trying to eliminate everybody at Pond View.”

Chief Flower obviously felt a little guilty. He didn't look Homer in the eye. He rocked back on his chair with his short legs off the floor and stared out the window at the little hollow where the Mill Brook ran trickling toward the center of town. ”Like I said, elderly people, they have accidents all the time. Take the old folks in Peter Bulkeley Terrace. Just the other day we had a fire and a burglary there the same day. But the fire was this old woman's hair dryer blew up, and the burglary was another old lady, she forgot where she put her pocketbook.”

”But Porter wasn't elderly, and neither is Honey. I tell you, Jimmy, those people need protection. What about posting somebody there at night? One man, just one?”

”Jesus, Homer, where you been? I told you, we haven't got the manpower for private security. We've had to cut our staff twenty percent. There's no way I could justify taking anybody off regular duty to guard a bunch of elderly folks around the clock, people who are probably dying of accidents and natural causes. No way in this world.”

Roger Bland's interest in the future of Pond View had blossomed since the death of Alice Snow. The termination of the trailer park was now even more desirable. Roger had been asked to help effect certain changes at whatever time in the remote future the park at last became empty of residents. The legal ramifications would be tricky, and the social uproar horrendous, but Roger was inclined to think the town should keep its options open.

”Only six of them left,” he said, reading the obituary notice for Porter McAdoo in the Concord Journal. He looked at his wife in triumph. ”Four of them retired to Florida, so now it's only six.”

”Six what, dear?”

”Never mind.”

”Oh, Roger, dear, did you remember the tickets?”

”Tickets?”

”The plane tickets. For Nantucket. Our vacation, remember?”

”Oh, the plane tickets. No, I'm sorry, Marjorie, I forgot.”

”Honestly, Roger, it just shows how badly you need a rest. Promise me, dear, you'll call the travel agency tomorrow morning first thing.”

*43*

Every day or two 1 strolled to the village to

hear some of the gossip... a”Walden, ”The Village”

The same issue of the Concord Journal that listed the death of Porter McAdoo published the warrant for the special town meeting in October.

One of the warrant articles was highly controversiala”the proposed zoning change to allow a mixed-use complex on a site belonging to the high school. Jack Markey's scenic watercolor rendering was printed on the front page. Soon everybody was talking about Walden Green and the sacrifice of the high school land.

”I must say,” said Marjorie Bland, meeting her friend Jo-Jo Field on the Milldam, ”I think the picture of Walden Green is awfully attractive, don't you?”

Jo-Jo was shocked. ”But it's another insult to Walden Woods. When is it going to end?”

”Oh, Jo-Jo, didn't you read the article? Grandison Enterprises has promised to finance a transfer station at the landfill. Roger says the huge hole in the ground will disappear at last. You know, where they pile all those old was.h.i.+ng machines.”

”It's bribery,” said Jo-Jo, frowning and folding her arms. ”I don't like being bribed to do something wrong.”

”But, Jo-Jo, dear,” said Marjorie, laughing, ”Roger says that's the way things are done these days. And anyway he thinks the pretty little square with its houses and shops will be an a.s.set to the town. And Roger thinks”a”Marjorie stepped over a rec.u.mbent form on the sidewalka””he thinks the affordable housing will fill a need.”

”Well, of course anything Roger says is gospel truth to me,” Jo-Jo said earnestly. ”We all swear by Roger.” She nodded her head significantly at the man huddled in the entrance to Hugo's Hair Harmonies and whispered, ”But what about that poor old man? Will he be able to live there?”

Marjorie looked down at the man in surprise. ”Good gracious. You know,” she said, hurrying away with Jo-Jo, ”one of those people keeps turning up at my house. She hides in the stable with Carmencita.”

”Carmencita?”

”Wally's horse, Baronesa Carmencita de Granada. She's got a Spanish name because she's a Paso Fino. You know, the Spaniards brought them to the West Indies way back in history.”

”A Paso Fino, isn't that the horse with the lovely smooth gait?”

”Right, but she's too small for Wally now. And anyway she's been so skittish lately. I've been thinking seriously, Jo-Jo, of having her put down.”

”Put down! Good heavens.”

”Honestly, Jo-Jo, it would be such a relief. She tried to bite me the other day.” Marjorie displayed a bruise on her arm and stepped over another sleeping person on the sidewalk.

”Listen,” said Jo-Jo, getting back to bra.s.s tacks, ”what about that homeless woman in your stable? Have you called the police?”

”The police? Oh, I don't know. Perhaps we really should.” Marjorie said good-bye to Jo-Jo and rushed away without explaining that Roger was hoping to become a Harvard overseer, and therefore he couldn't possibly throw a homeless person out on the street. It was a perfectly good reason, but it was just so difficult to explain.

Oliver Fry's response to the front-page picture of Walden Green was his usual choking fury. But an item on one of the inner pages distressed him even more.

It was an interview with Judy Bowman, the chairperson of the Concord School Committee. Judy was answering a question about the committee's plan for reducing their budget by the ten percent required by the finance committee. ”We hate to do it, but we've got to. We're going to close the libraries in the primary schools, restrict interschool athletic compet.i.tion, and reduce the teaching staffs at the high school in the departments of language and biology. It's a shame, but I don't know what else we can do.”

”...and reduce the teaching staffs at the high school in the departments of language and biology.” The paper slipped out of Oliver's fingers. He was about to lose his job. Judy had warned him it might happen, but he had chosen not to think about it. ”It will only be for a year or two, Oliver,” Judy had said. ”If this Walden Green zoning change pa.s.ses, there'll be money to burn, and we'll hire you back.”

It was an ironic blow from the hand of fate. It was bad enough to lose his job, but to have it restored thanks to a shopping mall in Walden Woods was inconceivably awful.

Anxieties crowded in upon Oliver. Hope had another year of college ahead of her. He had been saving for years to put her through school. If he put together all his savings and some unemployment money and a little something from his pension plan, there'd be enough to allow the girl to finish her education. But what would they live on in the meantime? What if he couldn't find another job?

At the moment Oliver couldn't face it. He couldn't make himself begin looking for a new teaching position. Instead he threw himself into the race against Roger Bland for the opening on the board of selectmen.